"I thought I'd be financially secure by now — will I ever?"

My husband and I were born three weeks apart, and our plan had always been to throw a joint party for our 40th birthdays. We'd imagined a big blowout: lots of dancing and drinking, the thrum of a bass beat. Of course, we'd also planned to return to Bali, where we honeymooned, for our 10th anniversary, and we'd planned to own our own home by our mid-30s, and we'd planned to put money into our kids' college funds diligently every month.

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But by the time our 10th anniversary rolled around, we had pillaged what little we'd saved for our children's education and sold our minuscule apartment to cover our debts after my husband's business collapsed and my writing career hit a wall. We took our two kids out for anniversary pizza and called it a night.

Three years later, as the big 4-0 neared, we began to feel as if we were back on track. My husband had found a secure, corporate technology job, and I'd just finished a novel, whose sale we hoped would finally put us in the black.

Thirty-nine rejections and one unplanned pregnancy later, I plunged into a dark depression. How could it be, I wondered, that at the midpoint in my life I was financially insolvent, a professional failure, and about to add a third child to an already stretched-beyond-capacity two-bedroom rental? I'd always assumed that by 40 I'd have at least a modicum of stability — a steady income, an established career, a bountiful fullness, like a pillow into which I could sink as I entered the second half of my life.

A big bash for our 40th was out of the question. In fact, paying rent that month would be a stretch, plus my then-11-year-old son needed braces. I went on a job interview at an Internet start-up in SoHo that was looking for writers. The man-child in jeans who interviewed me told me that his was a young company, hip and cool and on the cutting edge. Would I be okay with that? Then he offered me a salary which, when adjusted for inflation, was both less than I had earned in my 20s and insufficient to cover my child-care expenses. I turned down the offer and crawled back into my cave.

A month before my 40th birthday, as I was cooking shrimp for dinner — 12 shrimp, to be exact, as that's all we could afford — I received a call from my friend Jennifer, a newspaper reporter with a razor's edge and little tolerance for self-pity. To my dispirited "hello" she barked, "E.B. and I are throwing you a 40th birthday party next month, and I will hear no objections. Do you understand?" I felt the baby kick. I pictured a giant shrimp with arms and legs, too large to sauté.

I balked at first. I was hugely pregnant and sobbing so often that I'd sought out the services of a psychiatrist. ("If you're feeling this way now, you are in grave danger of postpartum depression," she'd warned.) Jennifer added a caveat: "Twelve guests, women only, and only women you love, not the ones you feel obligated to invite. You think you can handle that?"

Yes, I realized, filling a pot with water for the pasta I hoped would camouflage my paltry offerings. I can handle that. "That's such a nice offer," I said. "Thank you." And I was crying once again.

The night of the party, I arrived early to find Jennifer and E.B. bent over the stove, cooking a roast and plating several hundred hors d'oeuvres. The table itself was a cathedral of candlelight, each place setting bedecked with a mixed CD of songs by female artists and stamped with a photo of me smiling and zooming down a waterslide. Staring at this happier version of myself, I felt buoyed, ready to face the inevitable chutes and ladders of middle age.

"It's beautiful," I said to my friends, and though I was crying once again, these tears felt joyful.

The guests arrived, one by one, and came over to rub my massive belly and give me a hug: We've been worried about you, the hugs said.

Over dessert, my friend Patty regaled us with a story about calling her superintendent to investigate the mysterious noise emanating from her bathroom, which turned out to have been caused by an errant vibrator left in a drawer, and the 12 of us were laughing so hard that we had to hold on to the edge of the table to stay vertical. I scanned my eyes across the sea of candlelit faces, each glistening with euphoria, and finally, vividly realized how lucky I was.

Yes, my bank account was bare, and my novel hadn't yet sold, and my baby would have no nursery, and the gas meter on my life's fuel tank was halfway to empty, but my life itself was as full as life gets. For I was rich — Bill Gates rich — in friendship and love. It wouldn't cover my kids' college tuition or pay the orthodontist, but it will get me through the next 40 years, which is as far as most of us can hope to go.

Deborah Copaken Kogan is the best-selling author of Shutterbabe, a memoir, and Between Here and April, a novel. Hell Is Other Parents, her collection of humorous essays, will be published in August.

"I'm approaching the big 4-0 milestone, and I'm happy to say I'm doing better financially than I ever expected. As the main breadwinner in my family, I've been a good girl and socked away funds in my 401(k), bought an investment property, and put aside a nice amount for my three children's college savings. It's a good feeling to pay all the bills and have enough left over for a vacation every now and then. But with all of that said, the closer I get to 40, the more I'm finding that life's joys aren't directly correlated to financial security. In fact, although I like my marketing job, I wish I had the courage to embrace a more spiritually fulfilling project and make a real difference in someone else's life. But — who knows? — maybe turning 40 will push me over the edge to make that terrifying but oh-so-tantalizing leap!"

Saskia Monteiro Thomson, 39, Malverne, NY

"I'm amazed that at age 41, I still feel like I have so much to figure out! A couple of years ago I was on track to meet all of my goals — I was saving a fair amount with enough left over for the occasional retail therapy trip or spa treatment. But then I went through a divorce, and now I find myself in rebuilding mode. It's hard to figure out a new financial plan at this stage in my life, but at the same time, I'm old enough to know I can do it."

Tracy Tuten, 41, Richmond, VA

"Good Lord, I am nowhere near where I thought I'd be financially at this age! When I was younger, my goal was always to get my hands on a lot of money fast, which I did by getting cash advances on credit cards or depleting my savings. Now, here I am with a husband and three children, two paychecks away from the poor house! I'm a successful criminal investigator with a law degree, so it perplexes me that I'm still broke, robbing Peter to pay Paul each month. My family doesn't splurge, we don't take vacations, and we cook our own meals. I never expected to still be in a position where my mother has to slip me a $20 bill on my way out of the house when I visit her."

Danine Manette, 41, Richmond, CA

"Money is the one piece in my life that feels out of place. I'm in more debt than ever, and my family is barely getting by. I gave up well-paying corporate jobs in order to spend time at home with my kids, and that choice feels right to me, even if it means driving a very old car and living in an unfinished house. My financial situation is very different from what I would've expected a decade or two ago, but despite the difficulties, I love my life."